


Sovereignity

by Sub_Rosa



Category: Original Work
Genre: Consensual Mind Control, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, F/F, Intelligence Drain, Multi, Pet Play, Superheroes, Voluntary Feminization
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-09 07:12:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7791838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sub_Rosa/pseuds/Sub_Rosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a city of heroes and villains, one young woman with an unconventional superpower struggles to stay away from the cape life, and to stay away from a life of villainy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Emma and Ellen

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the NSFW 'Slavemaster CYOA' (https://i.imgur.com/Pj6RRxc.jpg). It makes mention of 'superhero(ine)s' so I decided to go all the way with it. And hopefully this story will contain far less non-con than the CYOA might suggest.
> 
> Thanks to my friends on Questionable Questing for proofreading and helping me edit.

Emma Neumann uses her superpower for the first time when she’s ten and a half years old and quietly hoping to die.

 

She’s lying awake in the bottomless well of the night, trying to hear what the midnight creaks of her home could possibly have to say over the din her parents are making, the din she’s trying to pretend doesn’t exist. Water flows through pipes like rivers, turning over in the walls with a riotous, rapturous pounding.

 

From downstairs she hears shattering ceramics, as one parent throws something at the other.

 

“-do you think I didn’t see you-”

 

“-maybe I wouldn’t need to-”

 

It’s not like it matters, losing a vase or a flowerpot. Not when everything else in their fucking house is going all the way to rot. Each footstep from downstairs sounds like an accusation, in sync with a broken clock that never ticks.

 

Anyway, she brushes her black hair away from her ears, and she creeps down the steps to the living room, where her mother is chewing out her father for going out and doing superhero work with another woman. Her mother is wearing her sleepwear, in opposition to the spandex costume her father wears - all lightning bolts splattered across thin fabric. And Emma can’t take it anymore. Something gives way inside of her, falling and falling and falling open.

 

“Just _stop fighting!”_ She screams, crushing her voice raw under the weight of her own tearful exclamations. Both of her parents go limp where they stand. Apologize for everything (“We didn’t mean to wake you up, sweetheart”). Send her off to bed and tuck her in under the plush purple blankets in her room.

 

The next morning, Emma sits in the kitchen eating corn flakes, and listening to the lilting tunes of a nearly broken television. And for the first time in living memory, her parents don’t fight. They never fight again.

 

Emma is eleven years old, just barely, when she figures out how her power actually works, and she makes the connection. She vomits, and heaves, and gushes bile, and she never quite stops.

 

She removes the influence of her power from her parents. They start fighting again. And in the span of months, they divorce, in a brutal screaming break-up that almost makes Emma want to use her power again. But she doesn’t.

 

What is wrong with her, she wonders, that she can’t even control herself? She is on the bleeding edge of things, because with her parents (the figureheads that they are), she’s expected to do big things. And yet, she doesn’t want to do big things. She just wants to be normal. She wants to have prospects beyond the high mortality rate of capes in Paragon City.

 

So she gets her powers, her fucking _mind control_ powers, and she feels trapped, because not only is her power not photogenic enough for powerful hero work (the way that something like a flying brick package would be), she just wants to have potential in the field of mundanity. She wants to get a boyfriend or girlfriend, wants to get a good job and start a family (by adoption, so she never passes on her blasphemous quasi-telepathic powers) and live a long and healthy and happy life.

 

But everything is out of her control.

 

===

 

In the end, it’s a twisted sort of power. Too many moving parts. Not like her father’s power is, his tactile telekinesis. Not like her mother’s power, her super-speed.

 

No, her power is different. It doesn’t follow the established family theme. It’s a power which is _warped_ subtly, all tied up inside her sense of self, a set of far too many tools for manipulating and controlling people. Almost _designed_.

 

And superpowers are inheritable, if just barely. They come in clusters, themes, families, taxonomies. Influenced by family. Yet the only person Emma knows with this kind of power for domination was Prima Nocta, a disgusting supervillain who got killed off by a squad of heroes years back.

 

But not before he might have had the opportunity to rape Emma’s mother and make her forget it had ever happened.

 

So yeah, using mind-controlling powers without the proper license and circumstance is black and vile and completely illegal. But that’s not the only reason that Emma keeps her power in check, keeps it quiet and never uses it. She can’t ever _ever_ ever let anyone know she has it, because then her mother would learn where her beloved daughter came from.

 

She swears up and down to herself that she’ll never use her power on anyone else. Instead, when she’s thirteen years old, she turns her power in on herself - manipulating the flow and secretion of hormones through her body, with one of the dozen tools she has for controlling people. The endocrine system is simple for her. She becomes nearly superhumanly strong overnight, pushing androgens into her muscles, and superhumanly beautiful to boot, pushing things like estrogens everywhere else. She cheats.

 

With another one of her mind-control powers, she takes control of her own will - she has the power of perfect precommitment, now, of iron willpower. And with her perfect body and self control, she takes to her mundane life.

 

She lives in Paragon City. Every other kid is a wannabe vigilante hero, aren’t they? Drinking down the attitude of the place like ambrosia and nectar, the attitude which whispers in your ear: _anyone can be a hero, you know_.

 

Somehow, there aren’t that many heroes in Paragon city, not compared to the total population. So Emma takes to her mundane life, never missing a homework assignment thanks to her perfect willpower, and just being the fucking perfect student that her teachers hope for, and the fucking perfect student who disappoints her mother and father.

 

“Oh, if only you’d inherited a power…” they say darkly, sadly, sucked into the malaise of broken vicarious dreams.

 

And Emma just shakes her head. _If you knew that I_ had _inherited a power, you would wish you could unknow it_.

 

Emma’s life was planned out from start to finish by her parents, and then she completely failed to live up to their expectations of heroism. So they planned even harder, and now she has no control.

 

She takes what she can get.

 

===

 

Emma is thirteen years old or so and looking much older when she meets Ellen, conspiring behind notebooks for a science project. Miss Richards is at the front of the room, nattering about oxidation-reduction reactions (“Redox!”) and the chemistry of the Sephirot as they relate to metahuman powers. Meanwhile, the two girls take down notes next to each other, at a little laminated green table, sharing a notebook. From above, they’re like like black jet and blonde sandstone.

 

The notebook was originally Ellen’s notebook, with pages full of the detailed designs and plans for super-scientific weaponry and gadgets. “Don’t tell anyone,” Ellen whispers conspiratorially. “They’re just doodles, not the hallmarks of a wanna-be evil genius. You get me?”

 

“I get you,” Emma says, bemused, but not quite willing to admit her own secret ability.

 

“Coolio. Anyways, Keter bonds with Gevurah to create the superluminals-”

 

That’s how it all fucking starts, with a notebook. Emma thinks it’s glamorous, the way their relationship grew out of that. Ellen thinks it’s silly and mundane and sublunary, that their relationship came from something so base.

 

They share a notebook and study together. Ellen helps Emma understand the material when even Emma’s hard work fails (because the world isn’t fair and equal, and Ellen is always the smarter one). Emma helps fend off the bullies who would pick on Ellen for being a ‘nerd’ - because none of them have anything better and more self-actualizing to do in place of manning cliques.

 

Jasmine’s words, the bully, nearly flense Ellen of all that matters. And one day, listening to Jasmine tell Ellen that she’s worthless and should kill herself, Emma has enough.

 

“Why don’t you just _shut up for now?”_ She asks, opening the pandora’s box of her power and using it on the cruel white-haired girl. “No one fucking cares if your daddy is on the school board and city council. Because _you’re too scared to even tell him that this happened_. That I stood up to you.”

 

Jasmine opens her mouth, closes it, opens it again. Dumbfounded even without the influence and confluence of Emma’s mind control.

 

“Just _go away_ ,” Emma finishes. “ _And don’t come back until you’re ready to apologize._ ”

 

Jasmine runs away, looking torn between rage and _impotent_ rage, not even realizing that her will was twisted. And Emma feels both sick and _good_ and _powerful_.

 

She just had a life in her hands, and on the one hand, she feels _alive_ , for having so much of the control that she craves and can’t find. And on the other hand, it’s wrong to control someone who doesn’t give their permission.

 

But… just maybe, Jasmine is an acceptable target.

 

Emma can’t turn down the feeling, _the feeling of power_ , but at the same time she knows she’s not going to go hunting down people to control, and isn’t willing to go controlling people except in self defense or in the defense of the innocent.

 

So she stews, and stews, and stews in herself, knowing that she’s her father’s daughter to two different fathers, and kind of hates it.

 

“Thanks for sticking up for me,” Ellen says, pragmatic as always yet staring at Emma fondly. “But you know that she’s going to start going after you too, now, right?”

 

Emma shrugs. “Let her come.”

 

Ellen frowns, now severe as stone. “Seriously. I can handle her myself, you know. I was digging up some neat blackmail on her daddy. Or do you like sticking up for me?”

 

Emma blushes, taken aback.

 

“Oh, you _do_ , don’t you? You’re like my cute little bodyguard! No, my cute little henchwoman~!”

 

“ _Ellen!”_

 

Ellen laughs, delightfully self-indulgent. Because school is too easy for her, and she thoughtlessly revels in making challenges for herself with her own big mouth.

 

“C-come on,” Emma says, red in the face. “We have to get to class.”

 

“I can see the clock too, but thanks.”

 

“Ell-en!”

 

Ellen laughs, and laughs, and never quite stops.

 

And Jasmine never comes back to Emma or Ellen, because she never _is_ ready to apologize.

 

===

 

Emma is fifteen years old when she uses her power intentionally for the next time - although explaining the _why_ does involve more than a few accidents.

 

Ellen comes over to Emma’s house to work on homework, but Ellen is so brilliant and Emma is so dedicated that they get it done in minutes. And Emma’s parents are out of the home, off fighting the diabolical Sir Nemesis, so the two of them are home alone.

 

Together, the two of them are sitting alone on the couch, and Emma keeps noticing how Ellen’s ass feels rubbing up next to hers, and the comfortable weight of Ellen’s head on her shoulder, but she ignores it, too. On the screen in front of them, Sir Nemesis and Emma’s parents (Captain Paragon and Blink) are in a live-broadcast battle all across downtown.

 

Emma changes the channel.

 

“Nothing ever changes.” She mutters bitterly, ticking through to something, anything else. “Mom and Dad always win, and come home fucking victorious.”

 

_Victorious and still divorced._

 

“Let’s watch a movie,” Ellen says sleepily, groggily, turning her head around, nuzzling into Emma’s neck. Emma rolls her eyes.

 

“Would you stop that?” She asks.

 

“No.” Ellen deadpans. “You’re so warm and cuddly!”

 

Emma snorts. _As if_.

 

She changes the channel again, putting on some romantic comedy. A conventionally handsome man is on the screen, recruiting the help of his gawky, nerdy female friend to get the romantic attentions of a conventionally attractive and popular woman.

 

“Boring.” Ellen snarks. “He’s going to fall for the geeky girl.”

 

Emma scowls, changes the channel again. “Spoilsport.”

 

On the screen, in black and white, a woman waits for a cosmetic surgery that will save her from a horrible defect. Thirty seconds later, Ellen pipes up again.

 

“You see how the camera won’t focus properly on anyone’s faces? The plot twist is going to be that the woman looks normal and the doctors look ugly-”

 

“Ellen!” Emma says, scandalized. “I _know_ you’ve seen The Twilight Zone before, so don’t go acting clever about it!”

 

She changes the channel again. A soap opera, involving two amnesiacs, a doctor, an incestuous relationship, and a drunken orgy.

 

“The doctor falls in love with the amnesiac’s sister.” Ellen snickers.

 

Emma changes the channel again. A murder mystery, of three detectives at a party-gone-wrong, all investigating each other.

 

“Twenty bucks says that two of the detectives worked together to do it.” Ellen whispers. And Emma has enough.

 

“Seriously, just _be quiet_ , please,” she mutters, not even noticing her control of her power slipping away and zipping Ellen’s lips. Not until the film is already over, and Ellen has laid her head down in Emma’s lap.

 

“I guess you were right,” Emma says, watching as Mister Quin puts Hercule Poirot and Miss Marple behind bars. “It was two of the detectives after all.”

 

Ellen nods, looking halfway to laughing.

 

“Hey, are you okay, Elle?”

 

Another nod. “You told me to be quiet.” She says, skirting below a whisper.

 

“Yeah, and?” Emma cocks her head.

 

“And you used your power on me,” Ellen murmurs, and Emma stops running her hands through Ellen’s hair.

 

“W-what!?” Emma practically leaps out of the couch with a yelp. “But… I don’t have a power. And either way, you should _speak normally_.”

 

Ellen chuckles. “It’s okay. I figured it out a long time ago.”

 

“I don’t have a power.” Emma maintains. “And if I _did_ , I would be so fucking sorry for using it on you. I would totally never use it on you on purpose. It would totally have been an accident!”

 

“Hey.” Ellen replies. “It’s okay. I mean, it’s not like I’ve never accidentally blown up one of my inventions-”

 

“I would be so so so sorry, and I would do anything to make it up to you, and I would never do it again,” Emma continues, speaking over Ellen’s consolations.

 

“Emma. Chill. It’s okay.” Ellen smiles weakly. “I… kind of liked it.”

 

Emma’s jaw drops like a rock before reversing it’s trajectory, her mouth closes with a _snap_. Like it’s all on a fucking bungee cord.

 

“Bwuh!?”

 

Ellen blushes and looks away. It takes her a moment to speak again. “I… you know I’m smart. But I don’t want to be.”

 

“What.” Emma says, sitting down on the couch again, trying to look Ellen in the eyes. “But why?”

 

“All the thinking in my reach has already been done before,” Ellen admits, stripping her innermost thoughts bare. “I’m not smart enough to do anything original, and too proud to be happy being derivative. So I cope by being a smartass.”

 

Emma takes Ellen’s hand in hers. “I don’t understand.”

 

“Maybe you don’t have to.” Ellen half-laughs, half-sobs. “I mean, it’s shallow. But I’m a smartass, and I’m tired of it. I keep ruining things for myself.”

 

“Um.” Ellen says dumbly. “I really don’t understand.”

 

“Jesus Christ, Ems.” Ellen giggles, wiping away a tear. “I… I liked not being in control. I… when I wasn’t in control, I wasn’t able to fuck it up for myself, okay?”

 

A beat passes, and Emma takes a deep breath. “So, you want me to take control of you with my hypothetical mind control powers.”

 

Ellen rolls her eyes. “Yes, I’ve only said that several times now.”

 

“ _Shut up_.” Emma hisses, drawing out her powers again. “If you’re trying to bait, me, well, I have to say it’s working.”

 

Ellen shuts her trap, just as ordered, and a deep flush spreads across her cheeks.

 

The feeling of power was intoxicating, and high on life, all Emma wanted to do was give Ellen the best. But, but-

 

Emma can’t really do this, can she?

 

Obviously she _can_ , but should she?

 

_I liked not being in control._

 

“Honestly, I can’t say I’ve ever done this before,” Emma admits. “But if you want to be controlled, and you don’t even want to be allowed to speak up, then we need some other way of knowing when you’re done-”

 

Emma doesn’t have much practice with her power, though, and her tools of control bleed together - like accidentally hammering out a typo on a keyboard where the keys are small and squished-together. She rips Ellen’s inhibitions straight away, like a band-aid, and the blonde moans and quivers where she sits, before pouncing on Emma.

 

“Wha-!?”

 

Ellen’s lips quest up and down Emma’s face, kissing and nibbling at her jawline.

 

“Okay, okay!” Emma says. And she isn’t quite sure she’s interested in Ellen _like that_ , but where else is she going to find someone who actually _wants_ to be controlled in all the ways that she wants to control people? “That’s enough, Elle. Get up.”

 

Ellen pulls back, almost squirming, her body moving against her own will. And on Emma’s part, her power is practically _screaming_ with freedom.

 

It’s a part of her she hasn’t touched in years - like a third arm she’s never moved, a limb she’s left to atrophy. There’s more than a feeling of power, there’s a feeling of liberation. And yeah, Emma is nervous as fuck, but she clamps down on her fight-or-flight hormones, washes them away, stays calm.

 

“I didn’t realize you were so goddamn _needy_ , Elle. But that only explains why you want me to control you,” Emma says, taking Ellen’s cheeks in her hand. “You want to kiss me? Do you want to serve me?”

 

Ellen nods, up and down.

 

“Good girl,” Emma says, more playing a part than acting genuinely. Yet in the heat of the moment, stripping her clothes away, she feels like the part she plays is _herself._

 

And Ellen plays _her_ part, too, all but worshipping Emma’s body with lips and teeth and tongue and gentle fingertips, playing across nipples and the crook of a neck and stomach and thighs.

 

“If you eat me out,” Emma whispers into Ellen’s ear, “Then I’ll fuck your needy holes in all the ways you want. You would like that, wouldn’t you? Living just so that your mistress, who owns your mind, can screw you senseless?”

 

A long moan slips out of Ellen’s lips, and Emma smiles, tweaking the other girl’s nipples. But Ellen is already leaning down, wrapping her mouth around Emma’s pussy as best as she can, sucking and licking at the black-haired girl’s folds. Ellen’s lips close around Emma’s aching clit, and Emma whimpers, groans, comes undone with Ellen’s head between her legs.

 

“Such a good girl,” Emma pants, pretending that she’s never fantasized about doing such things before. She grabs Ellen’s mind and _twists_ , spiking the other girl’s arousal through the roof, also sealing off her ability to reach climax.

 

On Ellen’s part, the pleasure is dragging her mind down into her loins, culling what few thoughts she had left in her head. All she can think about is how _empty_ she is, whimpering as Emma reaches down and begins furiously fingerfucking her. All she can think about is the hand inside of her tight, sopping wet cunt.

 

All she can think about is how she can’t fucking come. She twitches, shudders, shakes on Emma’s hand, but never goes anywhere at all, seconds stretching out into minutes and what feels like hours.

 

“Would you want to be mine?” Emma asks rhetorically. “Would you say no? Would you even want to be able to say no? Or would you give yourself to me, without thought, just trusting me?”

 

Emma grabs Ellen’s chin, looking the other girl in the eyes, reading what she sees therein, and undoing her mind control. “We both know the answer, don’t we? Come for me, Elle.”

 

Ellen all but explodes, staring into Emma’s eyes as she comes, never looking away. Never choosing to look away, never being allowed to look away. Coming undone into a surprisingly-quiet orgasmic mess, limply sagging against Emma as she reaches her peak.

 

And Emma blushes and turns away, stepping out of the role and the limelight, coming back down to herself. “I might have gotten a little away from myself… I’m sorry, Ellen.”

 

But Ellen just shakes her head. “God… don’t be sorry. Are you sure you can’t read minds, too?”

 

“Eh?” Emma asks, tilting her head. “I don’t understand.”

 

Ellen opens her mouth to say _well of course you don’t understand_ , but thinks better of it at the last moment, barely reigning herself in. “God… I… I liked you even before you fucked the snot out of me, okay? But… I thought I couldn’t.”

 

Emma waits for Ellen to continue, confused as always.

 

“I… I thought that if I ever tried to get in your pants, then I would fuck things up between us by being me.”

 

“So…” Emma wonders. “You want me to mind-control you into liking me?”

 

“No,” Ellen laughs bitterly, self-deprecating. “I want you to order me to be likeable and lovable. Not this… too-smart not-smart-enough smartass that I am.”

 

Emma just grabs Ellen into a hug, practically crushing the other girl. “You already are likeable and lovable, you idiot. Now help me put our clothes on before Mom and Dad get home.”

 

“...is that an order?” Ellen asks quietly. Emma sighs.

 

“...only if you want it to be.”

 

Ellen swallows. “I think I’d like that.”

 

So Emma orders her. And on Ellen’s part, it’s amazing how free she feels, even with no freedom at all.


	2. Sam and Sarah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I regret nothing.

Sam meets Emma properly long after he’s started to realize that something is wrong with him, and long after it’s too late to do anything about it.

 

They’re just fucking teenagers, yeah? Like, probably just fifteen or sixteen. But they still act like they’re eight years old, all naive and believing in an untrammeled wider world. Emma has fancy-unkempt black hair and purple eyes, like something out of the manga that Sam reads to distract himself from himself, and she’s always ready to lend a helping hand, even to people who don’t deserve it - like him. It’s not like they’re friends, or anything - the only way he knows her is from that one time when he tripped over his own clumsy huge feet and she was there to help him get to his feet. But still, he looks at her sometimes - probably because he kind of wants to kiss her, or something stupid like that.

 

Whatever. It’s okay for him to look at her, because he’s a boy, and she’s a girl, and she’s cute, isn’t she? Not like a model or anything, not like the beautiful woman splattered all over advertising, not even like  _ he _ is ‘cute’ in the eyes of older women who pinch his cheeks. But Emma has a nice smile. It’s cute in it’s own right.

 

And  _ she _ looks at  _ him  _ sometimes, in school with him, seeming simultaneously confused and curious. Like she wants to come over and introduce herself properly, but Sam stares back.

 

_ Don’t. _

 

And she stares back.

 

_ Why? _

 

And he jerks his head at his friends, who are already itching to hook Sam up with a girlfriend. And yeah, he wouldn’t mind a girlfriend, but it’s still annoying. He was in a relationship, once, and always ended up feeling like all the affection sent his way missed him by miles. He can’t deal with that shit again.

 

“Ooh, does Sammy boy have a  _ crush~!” _

 

Nathaniel comes up from behind Sam, watching the nonverbal interplay, and practically punches Sam on the shoulder with his huge hands. He was an early bloomer compared to Sam, and Sam doesn’t know how to feel about that.

 

“It’s not like that, Nat.” Sam protests, looking down at the schoolwork on his table. “I just…”

 

Well, actually, there’s not much he can say that would convince Nathan otherwise. It’s not like he can say  _ oh, I just think she’s cute _ or  _ oh, I just think she’s nice _ .

 

Shit, maybe Sam  _ does _ have a crush on Emma.

 

The other boys make a deal out of it all, criticising Emma for being a tryhard of some stripe or another, and Emma just looks at Sam. Like she’s looking right through him.

 

===

 

Emma walks up to Sam after that debacle, during lunch, tapping her fingers together surprisingly nervously for who she seems to be. And she asks Sam if he can help her with her schoolwork.

 

“I mean, you’re best in math class, right?” She says, all flattering, like she’s trying to get something out of Sam. She leans up onto the edge of Sam’s table, and looking at her, he almost wishes he was looking into a mirror. If only so that he might have such a nice smile.

 

Nathaniel sniggers.

 

“Shut up, Nathan,” Sam says with a bravery he really doesn’t feel.

 

“Oh, I’m not laughing  _ at _ you,” Nathaniel replies, although Sam would certainly disagree. “You have fun with Emma~!”

 

Emma rolls her eyes and drags Sam away, through the halls of a school where no one really learns anything anyway. Sam just looks away from her, feeling as foolish as Nathan seemed to see.

 

“So, um, what kind of math did you need help with?” Sam asks carefully, feeling like this is probably all going to be for nothing anyway. It’s not like he’s actually good at math or anything, he’s just in a class that’s too easy.

 

“It’s really hard math,” Emma nods. “Called making friends.”

 

Sam’s heart just about stops in his fucking ribcage.

 

“What?”

 

“You heard me,” Emma says cheekily. “I thought you looked interesting, and maybe a bit sad, so I wanted an excuse to talk to you.”

 

“I am not interesting,” Sam replies, deadpan, because he can’t bear to even think of admitting to or contesting the accusation of his sadness. “And I don’t appreciate being lied to. I actually hoped I might have been able to help someone with their work.”

 

Emma’s face falls.

 

“...but I am glad that you care, I think.”

 

And now she’s all smiling, like the sun kissing his skin. “Great! I think you’d love to meet my friends! There’s Aubree, but she doesn’t go go this school I suppose, and Ellen, and…”

 

He isn’t quite paying attention to her anymore, though, because all he can think is that maybe he would be better off trying to be Nathaniel’s friend. At least then he would be normal.

 

Ellen is nice enough, blonde and bottle-eyed and freckled and grinning like she knows fucking  _ everything _ (and for all he knows, she does). The girl can recite information on every single superhero and supervillain in Paragon city, the cape geek. She could do his homework with both hands and half of her brain tied behind her back.

 

And well, he already knows Emma. She’s  _ Emma _ , she’s ineffably sweet and untouchable altogether, intangibly beyond his reach in some way he doesn’t even understand. To see and to know, but not to touch or to hold.

 

They’re both too kind, the two of them.

 

“You know, you’re a lot cuter when you smile, Sam,” Emma says, cupping her chin in her hands. Ellen facepalms.

 

“But I’m not cute,” Sam replies - and if he  _ could  _ deny that he was smiling, he would. But he can’t. He’s just too  _ happy _ , and isn’t that sad in it’s own way?

 

===

 

Sam is (probably) fifteen years old, maybe sixteen, when his aberrant desires butt up against his own raging (hated) libido, and they rip him apart like a fucking shark before stitching him together like a seamstress.

 

The way he is, all knotted up, he pretends that his libido is a different part of him altogether. Dissociation and denial, all great and terrible. But the truth is, he’s grown together into his own fucked up sex drive and they’re inseparable now, in some fucked up inosculation. He  _ is _ a sexual creature, as much as he doesn’t like the direction his sexuality drags him in.

 

Like, what is he supposed to do about it? He can will himself not to follow his urges, but he can’t will himself to not feel the urges to begin with. He can’t stop  _ wanting _ , as fucked up as it even is to  _ want  _ on his part. He’s tried, tried harder than he tries at about anything else.

 

He fails, more often then he fails at anything else. And because he fails to stop wanting, he gives up and decides to just go along with what he wants. He decides to sit in front of his computer, with the brightness turned down all the way and the lights off as if to block out the world, and tries to satisfy himself by thinking about  _ normal _ sex and watching normal porn.

 

He can’t watch straight porn, though, because he always gets a sort of queasy feeling in his gut. Like, he doesn’t want to be the man in that scenario, fucking a woman, but he certainly doesn’t want to be the woman either, getting fucked by a man. He’s tried gay porn and lesbian porn, too, but gay porn just makes him feel detached and lesbian porn is even more ineffably ‘fake’ seeming than straight porn tends to be. Gross.

 

So he always feels sick and depressed after trying to watch normal porn, and he veers away into more outre material. There’s no huge market for what he likes - the depravities of extreme submission, and more - so he always has to dig up bad amateur captions and videos and .gifs from half-abandoned blogs that time has forgotten, and from the depths of Fortune.org/d/ archives.

 

Sometimes Sam is able to get off on something  _ really _ wild. Like, a fanfic about a mind controlled quadruple amputee slut or something colossally weird and stupid like that. But most of the time, he spends his time getting off on porn of gender transformation.

 

And there are myriad ways in which these pornos can go. Sam lives in Paragon City, of course, a city of metahumans and superhumans and parahumans and superscientists and spellcasters and mutants and more. Every other week, someone lands in a vat of toxic waste and gets superpowers and/or swaps sex.

 

There really is the science and technology out there to turn gawky boys like him into conventionally beautiful and attractive women, mostly thanks to the attentions of obviously-perverted evil geniuses. You wouldn’t think so, but it’s there.

 

Anyway. Most of the time, he completely forgets to actually get off because he’s too busy watching people get zapped by gender-bending ray guns or drinking shapeshifter nanites or using body-swapping machines, and too busy feeling vaguely jealous. And like, he knows it’s absurd. Even more absurd is that he wouldn’t even want to go through with it in real life (because how could he even look himself in the mirror?).

 

...well, that’s only half true.

 

There used to be a website where you could go to, in the same vein as those websites where crazy motherfuckers go to ask to be kidnapped. Voluntary kidnapping, who would have thought. Maybe it was on craigslist or something, but it’s not like Sam remembers the details.

 

Anyway, you could go to this website - run by a cadre of ex-assassins who had nothing better to do - and pay for them to arrange a gender-bending ‘accident’ with toxic waste or something along those lines. All the benefits of getting genderbent, none of the social awkwardness of actually having to admit that you want something so weird and viscerally sexual and disgusting. Sam used to be interested in that website.

 

But of course, that website got outed when a bunch of big-wig executives and figureheads got dumped in toxic waste overnight. It turns out that there are a lot of repressed transsexuals in high places.

 

Not that Sam is a repressed transsexual, or anything. He’s not  _ actually _ a woman trapped in a man’s body; he would  _ know _ if he was. No, he’s just… just a boy who wishes he was a girl.

 

No, not even that, he’s just a pervert who spends too much time barely even jacking off to pornography. And like, he can’t possibly be the only one like this, but who the hell even talks about this? Sometimes Sam snaps himself out of himself just by thinking about the fact that there’s even a market for this stuff - it’s pathetic that Sam likes it, so how can so many people be so pathetic? What the hell? It’s weirder than the ironic market for so-bad-they’re-good movies. It defies his belief in the general sanity and goodness of humanity.

 

It’s obviously fucked up. Sam knows it. But hey, when you can’t cum without looking at a shitty photoshopped gif of an mediocre ugly boy being turned into a cute girl, what are you supposed to do? Stop cumming altogether? Stop enjoying it?

 

Yeah, he’s fucked up. Looking at a video of one of the local perverted blue mages turning his apprentices into girls, he sits there and cums. He doesn’t enjoy it, because he’s busy thinking about how fucked up he is, and waiting for the right time to get over himself.

 

How is he supposed to fucking  _ live _ if he’s too busy living through his dick and wishing he didn’t have a dick at all?

 

If he could choose, he would put the choice out of his hands altogether. But he can’t choose, and the choice was never in his hands to begin with.

 

===

 

Emma knows that Sam is more than a little bit strange. How can she not? He’s always sort of reserved and distant, like he’s perpetually self-conscious to the point of crippling himself.

 

He reminds her of herself, from once upon a time - of the girl who lived with a secret, and tiptoed across broken glass to keep it to herself. She all but built her life around that corner-stone, and when it shifted underneath her - when Ellen learned her secret - she almost didn’t know what to do with herself. Even know, that corner-stone lies in the foundation of her life - of keeping her mind control powers secret from the world.

 

Yet despite all of that, with someone to share the burden with, it’s easier. It’s easier to build your world around a secret when it’s shared.

 

“Have you considered that maybe he doesn’t want to share his dirt with you?” Ellen says, chewing on the tip of a pen as she sketches out designs for a supertech chastity belt. “You didn’t share your secrets with me, even when we were best friends.”

 

“That was before,” Emma replies listlessly. “Before we became kinky lovers. You see the obvious solution.”

 

And Ellen squirms uncomfortably. “Another one? I didn’t even realize you liked boys.”

 

“Only when they’re really cute.” Emma shrugs. “But that’s not the point. You’re  _ always _ going to be my Elle, no matter who else I meet. You’re always going to be my girl.”

 

And Elle smiles as Emma kisses her on the forehead, blushing and almost ready to preen. It’s not the first time they’ve had this conversation, and it certainly won’t be the last.

 

But it’s enough to be okay.

 

**===**

 

Sam realizes that he’s not the only fucked-up one when he comes over to Emma’s house and realizes that Emma is not alone.

 

And yeah, he’s still the  _ most _ fucked-up one, but at least he isn’t alone.

 

The house is dark, in comparison to the bright white sky of the outdoors, and he trails in feeling more than a little bit like an interloper. He was invited over to study with Emma, of course, but she isn’t at the door to greet him. So he calls out to her.

 

“Emma? Emma! It’s Sam, I’m here!”

 

There’s no reply, though, so he walks in and gets lost in corridors. And then he finds Emma. And he finds Ellen, through the crack of a half-open door.

 

“Please, Mistress, you have to help me, there’s just so much in my head, I can’t get it all out-”

 

It’s Ellen, whimpering at Emma’s foot. And Emma leans down, croons in the ear of the girl at her feet. “Shh, it’s okay, sweetheart. I can take it all away for you, give you a little break. You would like that, wouldn’t you?”

 

Sam swallows, suddenly  _ acutely _ aware of his own perverse jealousy and aware of how much of an intruder he is. So he tries to walk away. And like the clumsy fucking clutz of an oaf that he is, he trips over his own two feet, knocking a table over with a  _ crash _ .

 

“What the- Sam!?  _ Shit _ , you didn’t see this-”

 

Emma trots over and throws open the door all of the way, looking panicked and conflicted. Ellen just looks nauseous. “We forgot…” she murmurs distantly, horrified to realize that they hadn’t been waiting for Sam’s arrival.

 

And Emma seems to  _ glow _ with more charisma than he’s ever seen before in his life.  _ “You’re not going to tell anyone about what you saw here. You’re not going to tell anyone about the mind control you saw. You’re not even going to act as if you’re aware of what happened here, when you’re not in our presence.” _

 

“M-mind control!?” Sam splutters. “I thought this was just some kind of kink nonsense!”

 

Emma blinks. “Oh. Um... shit.”

 

Ellen, still naked and with a boot print on her cheek, facepalms.

 

===

 

It takes them about ten minutes for them to calm him down, and twenty more for them to explain.

 

And Sam just feels so  _ sick _ . He feels the compulsion in his bones, the compulsion not to tell, not to tell, the compulsion that Emma doesn’t want to remove just in the interest of their safety. He doesn’t even blame her, as stupid and selfless as that is on his part. He knows that she has no reason to trust him with… all of this.

 

But that’s not what  _ really _ makes him sick. What makes him sick is that he wants more. He wants what Ellen got. Emma is prattling on about apologies and Sam is just thinking of the look on Ellen’s face like the freak that he is.

 

It’s disgusting. But then, he’s confronted with the perfect opportunity for change, isn’t he? He trusts Emma too much, because he’s hopelessly crushing on her, but he has no hope any other way anyways.

 

“Emma…” Sam whispers hoarsely, not trusting his trembling words. “Just how far can your commands go?”

 

“Eh?” Emma replies. “Far enough, I suppose. Why?”

 

“Because…” Sam trails off. “I won’t even complain about this compulsion you put on me… if you put me under further.”

 

Emma does a double-take. “You… what!? You want to be, ah…” she waggles a hand. “Mind controlled?”

 

“You want to be a subbie slut for Mistress?” Ellen chips in unhelpfully, winking.

 

_ Yes _ , Sam thinks.

 

“No.” Sam says. “If you can take control of me, and stop me from doing something, then can you make me stop wanting to do things?”

 

Emma shakes her head. “That’s one of the few things I  _ can’t _ do. I can’t instill a negative desire.”

 

“Oh.” Sam says. “That’s too bad. Never mind then.”

 

He gets up, and Ellen frowns up at him.

 

“Wait!” Emma cries. “What do you want to stop wanting?”

 

“It’s nothing,” Sam says, but it’s not nothing, he had absolution right in front of him for a split-second and now it’s gone, he could have stopped being such a disgusting pervert, and now he’s still  _ condemned _ -

 

“Hey, Sam! Sam-!”

 

Sam realizes too late that he’s crying, and he feels Emma grabbing him into a hug, and it only makes him feel  _ sicker _ because he’s not supposed to get a fucking  _ hug _ , what the hell is this?

 

“Please,” Sam says. “Don’t. I’m not… not a good person.”

 

“Yes you fucking are,” Emma shoots back. “If you’re a bad person, then what does that make  _ me?” _

 

“I’m not,” Sam maintains tearfully, reaching up to push her away. And Emma gets pushy back.

 

_ “Tell me what you want to stop wanting, Sam. Don’t lie to me, even by omission.” _

 

Sam feels the words pulled from his mouth coming up like barbed wire. “I want to stop wanting to be a girl. I want to stop wanting to be submissive. I want to stop wanting to be like Ellen.”

 

The moment after he’s spoken, he goes scarlet with impotent shame and rage, and it’s so  _ so _ fucked up.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I told you, I’m not a good person.”

 

Emma and Ellen are staring at him with no small amount of surprise. And they’re judging him, dissecting him, prying him apart like a fucking insect under the microscope. How can he fucking look them in the eye? How can he expect them to judge him kindly when he doesn’t even judge himself kindly?

 

“Somehow, that seems less bad than being a mind rapist in the making,” Ellen murmurs to herself. Emma elbows her sharply.

 

“ _ Shut up, Elle.” _

 

Ellen clams up, turning red with anger (and arousal, of course).

 

“Sam…” Emma grapples with the words. “God, I’m not going to pretend that I… shit, that was out of left field.”

 

It almost feels like Emma is  _ blaming _ him for her confusion.  _ Oh, god, I don’t know how to react, because you kept a secret. If only you’d revealed this sooner, then we’d already be over it! _

 

But he’s probably projecting again.

 

“Listen, it’s okay,” Emma says carefully. “You want to be a woman?”

 

“Yes and no,” Sam admits, the words ripped out again by mind control. “I want it so bad that it physically hurts. I don’t want it because I’m too ashamed of that desire to actualize it.”

 

And Emma frowns, closing her eyes and sighing. She looks over at Ellen, a silent conversation taking place in glances.

 

“Then I’m not going to give you the chance to second-guess yourself,” she whispers, and Sam’s heart leaps into his throat.

 

“I, I don’t understand.”

 

“It’s simple,” Emma replies. “I’ve gotten good at giving Elle over here what she wants but can’t give to herself, for whatever reason. Maybe it’s the shame of it all, maybe it’s just the lack of a… multiplayer dimension, shall we say.”

 

Ellen blushes, looking away before her freckles disappear into the rosy flush of her cheeks.

 

“It’s what I do,” Emma shrugs. “Better than giving people what they don’t want, at any rate. I’d like to think so. So I’m going to do the same to you, I suppose.”

 

“You can’t,” Sam replies, drawing connections in an instant. “No. I’m a  _ guy _ . You  _ can’t _ .”

 

“No,” Emma replies. “Not anymore, you’re not.” She grabs Sam by the cheeks, pulling him forward, and she doesn’t even need mind control to make him acquiesce. “Hm, does this make you a Samantha now? It’s a good enough name.”

 

Sam tries to shake his head  _ no _ , say no, he’s  _ Samuel _ , but what comes out of his mouth is completely different. “Sarah…” He whimpers.

 

“Hm? I couldn’t hear you, pet,” Emma tuts, looking him in the eyes.

 

“I… asked my mother, once,” Sarah admits. “She said that’s what I would have been named if I was born a girl.”

 

There. Out in the open.

 

“It’s a beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” Emma whispers into Sarah’s ear even as she nibbles on the ear in question.

 

“You- you don’t really mean that.” Sarah hisses under his (her?) breath, as Emma reaches into  _ her  _ shirt to play with her nipples. “I’m not- not beautiful. You’re, you’re just saying that.”

 

Emma yanks on Sarah’s nipples, pulling her forward and eliciting a little squeal from her. “You say that, but then I can get you to make the most beautiful noises.”

 

Some part of Sarah notes that Ellen is openly masturbating, but she is too busy focusing on Emma, too busy focusing on the hot breath which tickles across her neck. And then Emma  _ spanks _ her, and Sarah groans, pushing back against the deliciously painful sting.

 

“That’s for being a bad girl,” Emma whispers. “And hiding what you want from me.”

 

“I didn’t…” Sarah whimpered. “You hid things too.”

 

The sharp  _ snap _ of another spanking lashed through the air, and Sarah squeaked.

 

“I’m allowed to keep things from my pets,” Emma coos. “I know best, after all, don’t I? Now,  _ tell me what you want _ .”

 

More words spill from Sarah’s mouth, now, but she doesn’t even resist. Much. “I want you to fuck my ass until I come. I want you to make me beautiful. I want you to treat me badly, like I deserve. I want you to make me y- _ ouuurs- _ ”

 

Sarah trails off into a long moan as Emma reaches into her pants, one hand pulling them down and the other hand beginning to stroke her cock, coaxing out long and silky strands of clear precum.

 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Emma whispers, biting and teasing at Sarah’s nipples while Ellen stifles a cry of ecstasy in the background. “You’re already beautiful, and you’re already  _ mine _ , pet. You should be thankful that I’m willing to let a  _ toy _ like you be a woman, let alone be a human.”

 

“Thank you…!” Sarah wails, or perhaps screams. And Emma just shakes her head, as if to tell her new slut off.

 

_ “And your limits, pet?” _

 

“None…” Sarah whimpers.

 

“None? Well, that’s not very fun,” Emma says. “I don’t even have to use my mind control to order you around?”

 

“No,” Sarah admits. “I’m yours. Please, oh god, please please please-”

 

“Not yet, pet,” Emma says quickly, running her thumb over the underside of Sarah’s cockhead. “If I ordered you to eat me out would you do it?”

 

“Yes, please-”

 

“If I ordered you to eat my ass, would you do it?”

 

“Yes, I swear-” Sarah babbles.

 

“Really, no limits?” Emma wonders, cutting Sarah off again. At this point, Sarah’s throbbing prick is completely slick with her own pre. “You’re just my toy, you know. If I used you as a bed warmer, if I put you in a box for safekeeping, either way that would be your lot in life. And you’re okay with that?”

 

“Anything for Mistress!” Sarah chokes out. And some of it is just how stupidly horny she is, but some of it is also just how stupidly  _ thankful _ she is.

 

“Mmm, such a good girl,” Emma croons. “Are you feeling good? Does my pet want to come?”

 

“Please,” Sarah says. “Please, please, I need-”

 

“Let  _ me _ decide what you need,” Emma says sharply. “Do you understand, pet?”

 

“Yes…” Sarah whispers. “I, I understand.”

 

“Good girl,” Emma says, and the faint praise sends a ludicrously warm glow all the way through Sarah’s body. Emma strokes Sarah’s cock, faster and faster, and finally, she comes, releasing her load all over Emma’s hands and arms. Groaning and twitching, practically falling onto the other girl.

 

It takes Sarah a long time to be able to speak again, but when she does, the question is a simple one.

 

“Are you really planning on putting me in a box?” She whispers, looking vaguely ill now that the heat of the moment has passed.

 

“Eh,” Emma says, waving a cum-spattered hand. “Only if  _ you’re _ interested.”

 

And Sarah shakes her head. “I… if you ordered me, I would do it, but…”

 

“I understand,” Emma says, not unkindly. “I don’t suppose you would help me clean up? I mean- oh.”

 

Sarah leans down with all the aplomb she can muster, beginning to lick the semen up and swallow it.

 

“Wasn’t exactly what I meant, but still hot.”

 

Sarah blushes even redder than Ellen ever has. And speaking of Ellen-

 

“What happened to Ellen, anyways?” Sarah wonders. Emma shrugs.

 

“She always falls asleep after a good cum, and voyeurism seriously turns her on.”

 

“Oh,” Sarah says. With the arousal falling out of her headspace, shame is creeping back in, and she looks down, feeling more like Sam with every passing second.

 

“Hey, none of that,” Emma says, feeling the fluctuation of emotions in her slave in a push-back against the mind control. “I told you, I’m not gonna let you second-guess yourself. You are  _ my Sarah _ now, and I won’t let anyone - not even you - tell you otherwise.”

 

Sarah nods weakly.

 

“Seriously.  _ Come here-” _

 

It is an unusual experience, being walked into a hug that you are too embarrassed to accept on face value.

 

But it isn’t a bad experience all in all.

 

“See? This isn’t so bad.” Emma says.

 

“I suppose.” Sarah admits grudgingly.

 

It isn’t a bad experience all in all. It really isn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I regret everything.


End file.
